


North Star

by boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami/pseuds/boffinhatwithapipeYuekagami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guide me on my path for I am lost and alone. </p>
<p>Don't leave me through the night before I am already gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	North Star

___

 

John was- I was moving on a straight line up the hill. Slow straight line of painful agony.  He was slowly ascending then descending again. The whole trek was sloppy. It didn’t help that I was on a trip with Sherlock. It didn’t help that I needed to watch him writhe in pain. He was heaving and leaning on me the whole trip. Sure I was able to carry him during other times but this was different. It was heavier.It was a lot harder.

  
  


Sherlock was diagnosed of terminal cancer months ago. He was running around London when a pain attacked his head. He was unconscious for days. It wasn’t long before I knew what was wrong. I couldn’t stop myself from prying his medical records.

 

I wish I didn’t do that. My life was so perfectly placed. I didn’t live this far to watch it crumble into pieces. I’d rather live a sweet lie than to endure a painful truth. I knew it was wrong but would you want to watch someone important to you die slowly and painfully? Would you live a happy life if you knew that every single sunrise might be the last one of someone you love?

 

Would you live a life filled with doubts if you had done wrong that made you suffer like this?

 

Would you even want to live?

____

 

_How long?_

 

_Few months or less. He’d be rendered useless by then. I’m sorry Doctor Watson._

 

_Can this be cured?_

 

_…._

 

_Can this be cured?_

  
  


“You are a Doctor, John. You know how this thing works.”

 

“Shut up Sherlock. Are you fine with this?”

 

“Yes.”

__

 

During his 29th birthday, he asked me to go on a trip to a bay he loved as a kid. Barafundle. I did know that place but I knew we must not go. He couldn’t walk properly. What more travelling to Wales and walking by foot?

 

“We can’t, Sherlock. It is too much for you.” I set aside my newspaper.

 

“No. It won’t be if we go there now.” he drank his daily morphine. He closed his eyes and settled on the sofa stretching his legs. He was so serene looking. Always the charismatic Holmes. His skin was flush and his breathing ragged.

 

“Why should we go there?” I asked sounding skeptical as before. I practically heard him roll his closed eyes.

 

“John, I’m 29. Not going to see 30 anymore.” He said. That was a bit not good. I didn’t like him reminding me that I only have limited time with him. I didn’t like the fact that he wasn’t affected with it.

 

“A bit not good?” he asked.

 

“Yeah. A bit not good.” I answered.

 

“I’m sorry.” he opened his eyes. It looked directly to mine. I sighed. At least I should give him what he wanted before he..before he.. before he vanishes. I should never think of these thoughts though. I should never imagine life without him. I should never imagine a life without him insulting my intelligence. I should never imagine a life without him blowing up the kitchen but I did imagine. I couldn’t help it. I did imagine all of that. Not a single day that I’d be able to accept that. Not a single day would I even say that I have accepted his fate and that I was ready to be left alone.

 

I wasn’t ready and I would never be.

 

“-ohn?! JOHN!” his shout broke my train of thoughts. I shook my head and looked.

 

“Alright.” I said. “We will go to this trip with one condition.”

 

He smiled brightly. “What is the condition?”

 

“Bring clothes, edible foods and your medicine.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Sherlock. If ever I’ll catch you packing up some explosive devices or even a head of a bloody corpse, I’ll cancel this trip.” I added.

 

“Of course, I’ll bring my medicine.” he answered back. “Don’t want to die early.” I had to prevent myself from punching my own face from that lame joke.

__

 

We arrived at Wales around 10 in the morning. I wanted to eat something edible. Not that the canned goods we packed weren’t edible. Its just that I needed something healthy for Sherlock too.

I watched him walk slowly to the store. He was slightly limping already. It was just a matter of time before the cancer would eat him whole up. Before it would kill him mercilessly. Before it would kill me too.

 

He picked on his foods instead of eating.

 

“Eat up. You need that for the trip.” I told him chewing slowly on my food.

 

“Why? We have food, John. Let me just eat it when I’m hungry.” he answered.

 

“No, Sherlock. Eat.” I glared. He knew my methods. One glare and I’d tackle him on the ground.

 

“Fine.” He sneered. He shoved some food on his mouth. He stopped eating halfway and deemed it impossible to finish. He set it aside and drank his medicine.

 

At least he ate but it didn’t last long. He rushed inside the restroom to vomit. He groaned and whimper as the searing jolt of massive crunching of his whole body ate him up. He was leaning on the wall of the bathroom stall. Heaving and hissing. I walked towards him and made him drank a set of painkillers. He took it with trembling hands. He coughed continuously after that. It wasn’t long before he gave in to vomit again. He gripped my hands as he recovered painfully on his ordeal. I wrapped my arms around him as we let the pain pass through.

 

But which pain was it?

 

Jesus. I wish I could make this stop. I wish I was the in pain and not him. The problem was I was in pain too.

 

Probably the two pains felt by two souls intertwined.

 

__

 

“John.” he called out while we were walking down a wooden path. I stopped and looked at him. “We need to take a rest.” he proposed. The look on his face startled me. It was inconceivable on his features. He felt lost.  Then something shifted. His eyebrows furrowed. His eyes narrowed. I watched his expression turn into pain. My chest clenched. I was feeling the pain. It was too painful. He tried to open his mouth but he couldn’t. He bit his lip and squinted his eyes. He was having his attack again.

 

Focus, John. Focus.

 

“Right.” I nodded calmly. “Go and take a sit.” I motioned him on the bark of the tree.

 

“That is one of the problem, John.” he slurred. I was confused.

 

“I can’t walk.”

 

__

 

The whole night was filled with terror as I watched him struggle shifting from his sleep. I touched his forehead and gently squeezed his hand. He was having nightmares.

 

I witnessed his attack of the illness earlier. The wonder of illnesses was that it was able not to only kill the host but also the people around. Able to hurt you without even touching you. Able to take your life out of you by just taking one.

 

Able to take away the happiness you deserved.

__

 

I watched him struggled and hissed with pain as we walked again. I gave him a cane but refused to use it.

 

“Sherlock. You need to use the cane.” I stated while supporting him. “You are in pain, Sherlock. Morphine is not being kind to you anymore.”

 

“And you reckon the cane will be kind? Have you been friends with this for so long? Unlike you, John mine isn’t psychosomatic. Mine is real and manifesting on my right leg right now.” he snapped.

 

“I know, Sherlock. I am not blind!” I retorted back.

 

“Just give me the cane! Just give it to me if you are so keen to get the burden off your shoulders! You are just sticking up with me because you pity my condition. I am a burden and you want to get rid of me. Now give it to me.”

 

I stopped moving. He had to stop too. He had gone too far. He had gone deep. He glared daggers at me.

 

“Fine.” I spatted. Was he this hurtful before? Yes he was. Was he this sharp before? Yes he was. Then why were his words gashed to deep? Why was he trying to stab me deeper than before?

 

Why was he trying to kill me?

 

I shoved the cane to him and walked ahead. I needed to cry. I needed to vent my anger. I needed to let these things out. I needed to-I needed to-I needed to…

 

“John.” he spoke while trying to keep up with me. Even though I carried the backpack, I still could walk faster than him.

 

I ignored him.

 

“John, I’m sorry.” he said. I stopped on my tracks. I looked back and saw him standing mere inches from me.

 

“Right.” I nodded and walked again.

 

“John, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” he pleaded. I stopped and turned around.

 

“Sherlock, I am hurting from those words.” I explained. Still not moving from my place. “I know I am a terrible friend but I am giving everything I have to make you comfortable and happy. I don’t know what gotten into you that you say those horrible things.”

 

“John, am I a burden?” he asked. His passive face changed. He was curious and a flicker of sadness. “You are the best friend I have in my whole entire life. I just don’t want you to suffer from me being a burden.”

 

“You are a burden. You will always be.” I explained. “But you will always be the burden I want to carry.”

 

“So I am a burden?” he asked again.

 

“Yes. You are a burden. You are my burden. I value my burden. I love my burden. I am a soldier and I value my hardship.”

 

___

_“John? What are you doing here? Where is Sherlock?” Molly asked as he settled a bowl filled with intestines on the table. I was merely gazing at her while standing on the front door of Barts._

 

_The news was a shock. It wasn’t at first but reality sunk in and we drowned with truth. I stood there unmoving while Molly shred her gloves off and washed her hands._

 

_“John, what’s wrong?” she asked. I shook my head and sat on a chair._

 

_“Sherlock. Sherlock, he.” I started not able to tell her. The lump was great enough to obscure my speech ability._

 

_“What has he done this time?” she asked inquisitively as she sat in front of me._

 

_“Sherlock.” I sighed. “He gets a terminal illness and he is dying already_.”

 

___

We were staring at the stars. Sherlock was drinking his medicine. The morphine.

He decided that he wanted to sleep under the air today. I swear Morphine was beginning to fuzzy his brain.

 

“John.” he called. I hummed in response. “Almost everyone I know are being wiped out from my memory except you.”

 

“I wonder why.” I smiled as I watched the twinkling lights above our infinite ceiling.

 

“And I still don’t understand the outer space.”

 

He pointed at one very bright star on the sky. “That would be the Polaris, Sherlock.” I explained.

“The North Star.”

 

“Why is it called the North Star? Aside from being in the North part? Why is it so important?” he asked again. Inquisitive and very curious.

 

“Well, I think it is because it guides people. If you know where is the North, you’ll never get lost.” I explained as squinted my eyes. North Star. Somebody important. Somebody giving you directions in life. Somebody guiding you. The North Star of my life is- My North Star is him.

 

“You are my North Star then John.” he stated bluntly. I opened my eyes and sided. I was now facing him. “You guided me. I know where I am going now.”

 

I simply stared at his bluegreen eyes dancing underneath the pale light of dancing flames. “And I wanted to be your North Star too, John.”

 

“Well, you already are.” I whispered very softly. “You got rid of my limp before. You have been steering my life towards wars. You have been guiding me all along.”

 

Silence followed. He shifted on his side carefully maneuvering his right foot.

 

“Haven’t you missed wars?” he asked.

 

“I am already in a war, Sherlock.” I answered but I never did tell him about the war because he knew what war was that.

 

A war against Time.

 

__

 

“Will you miss me?” he asked while we were walking on top of the hill.

 

“What kind of question is that?” I shook my head. He must had already knew the answer even before asking it.

 

“Don’t answer my question with another question. It makes you stupid.” he retorted. I snorted. Could his insults get me into anger again?

 

“I suppose you know the answer already.” I answered.

 

“I just want to be assured, John.” he stated. Was he in doubt that I’d miss him? Was he not feeling loved by me? Was he really thinking that I’d live a happier life without him? “Because I will miss you, John. I will miss you far from what I am capable of.”

 

I stopped and gripped his shoulders tightly.

 

“Will you miss me when I’m gone, John?”

 

“For the rest of my life, Sherlock. I will and always be.” I stated simply. It hurts. It made my whole body ached. I felt myself crying. I didn’t actually feel the warm rush of flow from my eyes. I did feel the gnawing feeling inside of me; tearing me up alive to pieces.

 

When I bent down to retrieve something I dropped, the pain materialized. It was slowly rushing down from my cheeks dampening the dead grass by our path. I stood up straighter and saw Sherlock limping towards the top. His face was contorting into agony and pain. he closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of air but then something changed. He closed his eyes and started to cry out.

 

I rushed towards him. I was faster than ever.

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock whats wrong?” I asked as I crouched down and held him still.

 

“John.” He hissed. His lips trembled and turned into white. His face became pale as the snow.

 

“What is it?” I asked again.

 

“John. My legs.”

 

“What is wrong with your legs?”

 

“I couldn’t feel it anymore.”

 

God, if you exist, please make it stop.

___

 

He was heaving breaths on his bed while silently muffling an agonizing cry. He was a lot better now. He drank morphine and it numbed his senses. I wish there was a morphine to numb the pain of watching your best friend die.

 

He was delirious earlier from pain. Now he was hallucinating from the morphine.

 

Please make it stop. Please make it stop.

 

It wasn’t long when he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

 

“We need to get back.” I told him. He could hardly walk anymore. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly live.

 

“No.” he answered. “Barafundle bay or nothing at all.” His eyes still closed. His cheeks flamed with pinkish hue.

 

“Sherlock.” I sucked in a deep airful of lungs. “You can barely walk. You can barely breathe. We need to get you to the hospital.”

 

“What for? To lengthen the amount time of a limited time?” He snapped. His eyes still closed.

 

I remained silent. He was right. Why lengthen the time of a limited one? Why? Because people were so selfish. I was so selfish too. I was trying to lengthen his time because I was so afraid to be left alone. I was so afraid to be alone again. I was so afraid that I forgot that he was afraid too. Afraid of the pain he was experiencing already.

 

I was so selfish.

 

“I’m sorry.” I let the words rolled out of my tongue. His eyes snapped open and looked at me. “I am so selfish. I am an utter bastard to you. I’m sorry.” I wrapped myself with my own arms.

 

“John. Please. What are you thinking?” He asked.

 

“I am trying to lengthen your time because I am afraid to lose you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I am so oblivious of your pain.” I answered as I pulled my legs infront of my chest. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I never meant to put you in pain.”

 

He remained silent. The distant hoots of owl could be heard on the scattered trees. They must had sense that I needed wisdom.

 

“Well, you are selfish, John.” He started. “As I am. Which makes us even now.” He shrugged.

 

He was right. He was the most selfish bastard I had ever seen. Nothing could change that. He was so selfish and rude yet he made me feel a lot better. Simple words. Simple thought yet very disarming. It must’ve been the sincerity behind it.

 

I stared at his deep blue-green eyes. It was dilated.

 

“No hospitals, then?” I asked. I leaned on the log I was perching on earlier.

 

“Yes. No hospital.” he answered. “And do get some sleep.”

 

Yes. That would be the best thing to do. I needed it more than anything right now.

 

__

_My phone rung inside the office while I was sorting papers for the day. I picked it up and it was the voice of Lestrade._

 

_“What is it Lestrade?” I asked before he even get the chance to shout at me about Sherlock being rude.”_

 

_“You need to come here quickly, John.” He was out of breath. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong._

 

_“What is wrong?” I asked._

 

_“Sherlock. He passed out while chasing a criminal in the London. He haven’t woke up yet.” I was out of the hospital faster than anyone could believe a 32 year old man could do._

___

 

I carried him as we walked down the rocky road to the bay. The backpack was strapped on his back. It wasn’t that heavy and he didn’t have any choice on the matter. He was sleeping soundly on my back. I didn’t know the way right now but his instruction was to keep walking. I did keep on walking. I was tired but that didn’t stop me. I barely managed to reach the edge of the path when the salty air greeted my nose.

 

Sherlock stirred and opened his eyes slowly. I settled him on a rock near the water and watched him come into his senses. The look of pure delight on his aged face was ethereal. It was heavenly. I could pay anything I had to see that again on his face.

 

I was standing on the edge of the rocks gently feeling the breeze. It made me feel so alive.

 

He limped at me and tried to persuade me to go into the water. I was reluctant at first but then realized that Sherlock swimming alone was a worse idea. I shed off my pants and my jumpers. Sherlock was already through with his shirt when he stumbled into the water. He fell head first and bumped his head into the sand.

 

I rushed to his side and saw him brightly read and coughing sea water. There was a moment when we just stared at each other. Then he bursted out laughing. He had realized how stupid he looked on the water. The wave on that part was being gentle. I gently removed his pants and shoved it on the nearest dry sand. I carried him into the water.

 

Perhaps this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

 

__

 

That night was not the best night. The morphine had a little effect anymore. The painkillers made it worse than before. The pain was unbearable. I had to hold him for hours just to settle the pain down but it didn’t. It didn’t stop. In fact, it was getting worse.

“John! Make it stop!” he sobbed as he clutched his head tightly with his sweaty palms. “Please make it stop. Please make it stop. Please, John. PLEASE!” he cried out as he clutched his leg.

 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m sorry. Please just hang on and drink more morphine. Please have more painkillers.” I trembled as I gave him more medicines. I shivered as I tried to made him drink another batch of morphine. I found myself repeating the last words he spoke before screaming.

 

Please make it stop. Please. Please.

 

I didn’t know which one I would fancy on stopping.

 

Perhaps the pain that was eating both of us slowly.

 

Perhaps it was only that.

 

Perhaps it was all.

__

 

_“Sherlock? Are you alright?” I asked as I peered into the bathroom. He was leaning on the tiled wall and breathing heavily. He covered his mouth with his hands as he tried to cover the putrid smell of vomit._

 

_“What happened, Sherlock?” I hauled him up the floor and helped him walk towards the sofa. He shook his head lightly. I walked to the kitchen and got him a damp towel. I made him take medicine. I placed the towel on his face while he lay down._

 

_“You okay?” I asked._

 

_“Yes. Just leave me alone and sort myself out. I’m sick.” He dismissed me._

 

_I just nodded. “All right. I’m going now. Call me if you need me.”_

 

_“When have I ever need you?” He asked under the towel._

 

_“Every bloody time, Sherlock. Every bloody time.” I said as I walked out the door._

  
  


I should have diagnosed him that day. It would have made a difference. I was so oblivious.

 

_I made myself comfortable that day until Lestrade phoned me._

 

__

 

He was limp on my lap right now. His eyes was half opened and his pupils were dilated. He was gasping for air. The morphine took its effects but it was too late. His head filled with wonder was now being fuzzified by one emotion alone. Pain. A lot of pain. The cold air was biting our skin but it wasn’t enough to hide the pain we were experiencing inside.

 

“Make me swim.” He told me. I froze and went rigid.

 

“Sorry what?” I answered. I must had been wrong the first time I hear it.

 

“I hate repeating myself, John but for the sake of your brain, I will.” he slurred. “Make me swim.” It was firmer.

 

“Sorry WHAT? You want to swim to the sea? Your legs weren’t working properly anymore. You will drown.” My voice trailed off as I realized what he wanted. He smirked a little.

 

“That is the point, John.” he answered.

 

My head was spinning wildly. My heart was thumping and pumping incredible amount of blood through my face. Mine was turning paler and paler.

 

What had he just said?

 

“Sherlock, the morphine is just talking. Stop and think about what you will do.” I gently pleaded him. Hoping that my words would prevent him from doing it.

 

“I know what I want, John. I know what I want.” he said while slowly shifting his head on my lap.

 

“No. You can’t do that, Sherlock. You just can’t.” I snapped. “What will the police do if they found you dead with me?”

 

“Same old detective stories. I walk towards the bay fancying a swim when you are asleep. It will just be an accident.” he stated.

 

“No! You can’t do that. You just can’t do that!” I shouted at him and held his head with my shaking hands. “Please, Sherlock. Don’t do this. Not like this.”

 

“I have already decided, John. I want to be in control when I’ll die. I don’t want to wait and anticipate my inevitable death everytime I wake up every morning.” He looked at me with too much emotions on his eyes. His mask was breaking already. It was cracked before. Now it was broken. The halves was slowly falling away.

 

I looked at him and imagined my world without him. Just like I had thought. Impossibly improbable. I couldn’t even imagine him gone. I couldn’t even imagine him away for so long.

 

Then I was crying again. Letting the tears fall unto his face.

 

“Please, Sherlock. Just a bit more time.” I asked. I was sobbing. I was sobbing heavily. I was shaking uncontrollably. His shaky hands reached my face and gently stroke it.

 

“I am hurting, John. I want to end this now. I want to be in control. I want to feel alive even when I am dying. I can only have that control when I’ll choice on how I die.” I shook my head very dismissively at his thoughts. He touched my hand and brought it closer of his lips.

 

“Please, John.” He begged at me. “Please.” He whispered. I looked at his face and I could see determination. I could see the expression he always wore whenever he was solving cases but with this, it was more human in nature. More expressive.

 

More heart breaking.

 

I would never want to let this face go. I would never let him leave. I would never ever let him get away from me. I needed him alive. But for how long? How long would he suffer? How long would I even think for him for just one second? How long would I dismiss the thoughts of fears in my head?

 

_Please. Make it stop._

 

That was it. That was my decision. That was what he wanted. What we wanted shall be given. And I know deep in my soul that I would also want that. I would also want him to stop experiencing pain. I would want him to stop feeling pain rather than live long enough. As my wish stated:

 

**_God. If you exist, Please make it stop._ **

 

“All right.” I nodded. I wiped my tears away from my eyes. He smiled sadly at me. I held him up and carried him to the waters just enough to have the waves lapped at our soles.

 

I put him down. He staggered as he set his feet firmly on the waters. He was facing the sea. He closed his eyes. I watched him feel the breeze. A ghost smile flickered on his lips. He then opened his eyes slowly and faced me.

 

“John Hamish Watson.” He started. “Thank you.”

 

I didn’t reply. It hurts. It bloody hurts. “And.” he continued.

 

“See you later.” he smiled at me through his tears. He was crying. Sherlock was crying. I hugged him tightly. He was rigid at first then he melted right away. He patted my head as I sobbed on his shoulders.

 

“There. There, John. It is going to be alright.” He assured.

I pulled away and stared at him. “I’ll miss you, you know. Baker Street won’t be the same without you.” I whispered.

 

“I know. But it will be worse if there’ll be no John Watson at all, won’t it?” He smiled sadly again. He looked back at the sea with the tears still flowing.

 

“I should be going then.” He requested. My whole world stopped moving. The wave sounds muffled. I couldn’t do anything anymore, could I? So I just nodded and watched him slowly approach the water. I watched him during the first few moments but it was painful. I had to turn around and walk towards the backpack. I walked slowly and very heavily. I needed to have my composure. I needed to forget the fact that as I was slowly walking away, Sherlock was walking his way towards his death. As I was only few meters away from the waters, something snapped on me.

 

I turned around and looked at Sherlock’s figure on the deep waters.

 

No. Not like this.  

 

I ran and shouted his name over and over again. I ran after him and ignoring the protest of the sands on my feet. Sherlock’s head momentarily disappeared. I swam fast until I found him and hurled him up resurfacing on the water.

 

“John? What are you doing? We talked about this.” His eyes narrowed then softened again as he saw my face. I looked at him straight into his eyes.

 

“Please. Sherlock. Not like this.” I pleaded gripping his hands tightly. he closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“My North Star.” He smiled at me. “You haven’t got the faintest idea why I am doing this, have you?”

 

I shook my head. “I don’t want us to suffer anymore, John.”

 

“But you told me I am your North Star, right? That means I can show you the way.” I answered back. “I say we should get back, Sherlock. Settle this thing out when we get back to London.”

 

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Please.” I whispered.

 

“I have decided to do this, John. The North Star needs to feel their importance too. It needs to be guided too.

 

“I hate to see you hurting John. It is too painful and unbearable for me to look at your face. It is unacceptable to make you suffer John. I hate to see you suffering from my sufferings.” he explained.

 

“The more I’ll want to stop you.” I softly whispered.

 

“I’m sorry, John but I can’t. I have made up my mind.” He inched his way close to me. I could feel his shallow breaths into my cheeks as he leaned into my ears. “I do this because I love you, John. Please. Let me go. I am ready to die. I have always been ready.” And pressed a soft kiss on my lips. A chaste of soft cold trembling lips. My hand curled into his back as he closed his eyes again. I trembled as he mouthed another Please.

 

The whole world was muted. Silence was eerie and painful to hear. I gently and slowly let go of his body and arms. He smiled lightly and slowly sunk. The sounds of the whole sea blasted my ears and came crashing on my mind. Chant was beginning to manifest inside my head. Sherlock.  I looked down at the bottom and saw him slowly descending.

 

I held my breath and sank with him too. I positioned myself near to him and held his hands. He opened his eyes and looked at me wildly. Bubbles of air was everywhere. The bubbles was beginning to get less in numbers. He was drowning. I held him closer and motioned him up which he quickly shook his head and held on to me firmly. He struggled for quite some time until the last bubble popped out from his mouth. He was floating in the water. Floating and dying. No not dying.

 

He was already dead.

 

___

 

_“Afghanistan or Iraq?”_

 

** _“I have always been ready.”_ **

 

___

 

I gasped for air as I resurfaced. I held onto Sherlock’s body as I waded towards the shore. I carried his body and settled him into the sand. Half of him was still submerged into sea water. My knees could only take me that far. I settled his head into my shoulders and silently started to cry.

 

It was over.

 

No more pain.

 

No more morphines.

 

No more painful pains.

 

But no more Sherlock.

 

My silent tears turned into hysterical sobs. I looked up into the sky and tried to fill my lungs with painfully cold air. I needed to feel the air pass through my lungs. I needed to make sure I was still breathing. I needed to feel that I was still alive. When I already had fulfilled my ability to breath, I felt furious. Why did I let it happen? Why did I let him die in front of my eyes? Why did I let him go without me? Why?

 

_Because that is what Sherlock wants._

 

I hugged him closer and tightened my arms around him. My eyes till gazed into the endless sea. My ears was bombarded by the symphony of ringing, buzzing, waves sound, and thumping of my heart. My whole body was numbed. By cold? No. Never cold.

 

I squinted my eyes and shouted Sherlock over and over again. Somewhere deep inside me, I could feel the hope that he wasn’t dead yet. I rocked him. I nudged him. I slapped his arm.

 

Nothing happened. I was too weak. I felt numb. I felt sorrowful. I felt painful. I felt abandoned. I felt alone. I felt confused. All these emotions swirling inside my whole body were beginning to be rejected by my brain. I was rendered limp by his back still looking out at the sea. Endlessly looking at the endless sea filled with dread and pain. My tears was still flowing. It wouldn’t stop.

 

“Sherlock.” I whispered. “I love you too.”

 

I felt nothing.

 

__

 

_“Don’t be ridiculous, John.”_

 

_“Shut up. Don’t talk.”_

 

_“The head can talk better than you lot.”_

 

_“I love you, John.”_

 

___

 

The funeral was simple. Only few people attended. Mostly, I was the one being comforted by this. That I didn’t know why. I could only feel the lingering soul of his ghost lips on mine and trying to remember his voice. I wanted to remember the memory of him alive.

 

It was time to lower him down. I stood up closer to him as one last look was being ensued. I touched the glass casket and took a peep finally on his peaceful face. He was sleeping. He was incredibly peaceful. He was even smiling. This little git. I clenched my hands and trembled as I prevented my tears from falling down. I nodded. I took a step back. I saluted. There was no one worthier with my respect than the man I loved. William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

 

I turned around and walked away. I didn’t want to see him being buried. I needed to get out. I needed to feel the pain. I needed to feel alive.

 

I was lost. My Star was gone.

 

It didn’t matter anymore if I was lost...

 

...because apparently, I was already dead.

  
  
  


__

 

_Come home, John._

 

_Are you serious, Sherlock?_

 

_Yes. I am._

 

_Then take me away with you._

 

_I can’t._

 

_Then what are you supposed to do?_

 

_What am I in your life John?_

 

___

 

I closed my eyes and slept.

 

I dreamt of Sherlock. I dreamt of him.

 

__

 

_You are someone important. Someone brilliant._

 

_Stop flattering me with your comments, John. What am I to you?_

 

_You are the man I loved and- and-_

 

_And what, John? Think._

 

___

 

“What is his purpose in my life?”

 

__

 

_Come on, John._

 

_You are my-_

 

_Stop being so forgetful bastard. Think harder._

  
  


___

 

My…

 

__

 

**_...North Star._ **

__

 

Always my North Star.

 

__

 

_Take my hand._

 

_Now people will definitely talk._

 

_People won’t judge us where we are going._

 

_Really?_

 

_Yes. Besides, you become my North Star before, am I wrong?_

 

_No. You are always right._

 

_Then it is my time to be your North Star. I will guide you._

 

_Really?_

 

_Yes, John. We are going home._

 

___

 

I was going home.

 

Sherlock was taking me home.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Based from Alone in the Water and Third Star. 
> 
> I get my idea from TUMBLR! :) And sorry.


End file.
